Sweet Fang
by MidoriEyes
Summary: Stiles lands a part-time job at an ice cream shop, and guess who just happens to drop by? Will Mr. Sourwolf be able to stand the sweetness - literally and figuratively? [Stiles/Derek]
1. Chapter 1

"Oooooh Zippity Doo Dah, Zippity Day

My oh my, what a wonderful day

Plenty of ice cream headed your way

Zippity Doo Doah, Zippity Daaaay~"

Stiles' half-assed jazz hands did little to impress the perplexed mother and child on the other side of the glass counter. Their expressions resembled that of deers in headlights, yet a twinge of amusement could be seen tugging at the corner of their mouths. The woman retracted her hand from the tip jar, gave a skeptical smile, and led her young son towards the exit, who was staring at the Stiles with those big curious eyes until the telltale jingle sounded of their departure.

If anymore blood filled up the teenager's face today, he'd surely pop a vein.

With a look of resignation, he took the scoops he just used and ran them under the sink, warm water rinsing off banana fudge ripple residue into a cloudy stream down the drain.

Being an employee at Stone Cold Ice Cream Shop wasn't Stiles' first choice amongst all the job applications he'd painstakingly filled out and submitted to at least twenty different locations. He'd have much rather worked as a laser tag instructor at their local arcade, or even a math tutor at his own school. However, Stiles wasn't a cute, blonde, Megan Fox look-a-like with a choice set of double D's who'd turned in her application right after him, thus ruling out the laser tag position. In addition, the tutoring hours conflicted with his lacrosse practice. Bye bye easy money.

After countless response letters and returned calls that wrought nothing but the bitter pang of rejection, Stiles' finally got a lucky break when one application came through with positive results. The joy he felt was like when his first edition of The Amazing Spiderman "Enter Dr. Strange" comic came through the mail on his 13th birthday. He'd forked out the cash himself by saving up his allowance and selling the most cookies door-to-door for a school fundraiser, ten boxes of which he'd forced his dad to buy.

Sure, it wasn't the piece de resistance of all part time jobs, but work was work, and if it reeled in some dough then Stiles wouldn't complain. At least not openly.

"I think you're getting better at those tunes, dude," said a playful voice to his left. Jessica was the employee who had taught Stiles all the basics he needed to know in order to somewhat function at Stone Cold. She was in the same grade, but went to a different high school that lived along the outskirts of northern Beacon Hills. They'd gotten along pretty well so far, and whenever Stiles had a question about one thing or another, Jessica was there to help a brother out.

"Did you see how uncomfortable those poor people looked?" Stiles gestured to the doorway as if he'd just been insulted. If anything, that woman and child were the ones who should be insulted for having to listen to the seventeen year old's awkward vocal abilities.

"No, but I wish I had." Jessica's primary task during their shift was cleaning and re-stocking the ice cream tubs if one should ever run dry at the front display, which is what she was currently focused on.

"They were mortified! Completely and utterly frightened for their lives, like I'd just chanted some ancient demonic ritual that summoned the dark lord Satan."

"Oh come on, I heard you. You weren't _that_ bad, rookie."

"Tell that to the five year old kid I probably just scarred for life." Stiles put the scoops back into their proper container, ready for whatever flavor came their way next. "Why do we do this?"

Jessica let out an exasperated sigh. "Oh my god- _again_?"

"No seriously, hear me out!"

"I've heard you out the past three times." She went to collect the empty bin of rocky road on the other end of the counter. Stiles moved with her, determined to get his point across.

"I mean, obviously the customers are weirded out by us suddenly breaking into song every time they throw their loose change in the tip jar, because I definitely am. And I don't get weirded out by much!"

"Yes, you've told me."

"So my question is: why do we even do this little song-and-dance routine if nobody likes it?"

"Gee, I don't know, Stiles," Jessica replied with a hint of sarcasm. "Maybe because tips include half of our pay, and if we don't put on a good show then that means no gas money for me, which means I can't come to work every day, which means my college fund is looking pretty sad."

"Right, right, so you can finally reunite with Mr. Stud McMuffin…" Stiles rolled his eyes. Jessica had mentioned her Adonis-like older boyfriend from a high class university about a dozen times since he'd started working here.

"Exactly," she grinned. And with a swish of her platinum blonde ponytail, fried one too many times by hair dye products, she disappeared into the kitchen again to complete her work.

Stiles had opened his mouth to respond, but found that he'd run out of excuses by this point in time. He knew that doing the jingle when tipped guaranteed an extra bonus in their paycheck, and there was really no arguing with that concept. It wasn't exactly a mystery as to why so many teens worked in the food industry.

A brief look at the clock told the boy that there were about three more hours left in his shift. His eyes then shifted to the emptinesses of the shop. Stiles' groan was low and defeated as he let his head hit the top of the ice cream display case. With the rate work was going, it'd feel like double that time for sure. On the bright side, at least this evening was turning out to be nice and quie-

***ring-a-ling***

A shiver ran it's course through Stiles' spine at the shrill tone before he quickly raised his head to receive the next customers entering Stone Cold.

A young couple came through, fingers intertwined lovingly and both wearing wide smiles, giving the impression that they'd shared a joke between the two of them a few seconds before coming in.

Stiles vaguely recognized them as students from Beacon High. The guy always sat in the back of his history class, although the only "work" he ever did was on his iPhone. Now Stiles could see the reason why - his girlfriend was cute and laughed at almost everything her beau said. She was definitely trying too hard, but hey, it seemed like they had a pretty good thing going, however superficial it might be. Who was he to judge?

As the lovebirds scanned the display case for what they wanted, having ignored Stiles' welcome greeting, Jessica came back out of the kitchen and placed a full bin of chocolatey ice cream where the "Rocky Road" label resided. She merely glanced at the new customers for a second and went to retrieve the next near-empty bin under the name of "Birthday Cake", a favorite at their shop. And, of course, that's the exact flavor their customers desired after browsing their 20+ other ice creams.

"It'll just be a minute," Stiles put on a smile as the two teenagers looked to see what drinks they wanted on the overhead menu while they waited.

Business as usual. Boring, but business.

During this brief period, Stiles absentmindedly wondered what Scott and the gang were up to. It was a Thursday, so his bff should've been close to finishing up at his own work. One of the first places Stiles had applied to was Deaton's animal clinic if for no other reason than to hang with Scott and all the critters, but that plan quickly fell through once he came by for an interview and started sneezing at a machine gun pace due to his cat allergy. Apparently, he inherited this curse from his mother and figured, since he hadn't come into contact with a cat in a while, that the allergy would have magically disappeared. Stiles could vividly remember the incredulous look on Deaton's face when the doctor had heard his reasoning.

As for everyone else…

Allison was most likely studying at home for a big test in Algebra that she and Stiles would undoubtedly ace, as always.

Jackson… honestly, who cared what that guy was doing right now. Probably jerking around and being the jerky jerk that he is, and there was a good chance Lydia was with him being exposed to his jerkiness.

The wolf gang was probably having their routine training session as they did every night. Like the curious high schooler he was, Stiles had snuck over one time to watch and wowee-gee-wizz, did Mr. Tall, Dark and Alpha work them over or what! Although they were_werewolves_ after all, despite being newly turned. It's not like they couldn't handle a little bit of Derek's Bow Wow Boot Camp.

"Heh heh…" Stiles snickered at his own joke, which warranted him an odd look from the customers who'd decided to wait at one of the tables until their ice cream was ready. The boy cleared his throat and went over to the kitchen entrance, popping his head in to see why his fellow employee was taking so long. "Hey, Jessica! Sometime this century would be nice, yeah?"

"How about _you_ try carrying a giant tub of frozen dairy to and fro?" She said while struggling to keep a steady grip on the cylindrical bin.

"Nah, I'm good." Stiles turned to take his station behind the counter again, laughing internally when he heard Jessica's irritated groan at his antics.

What a pleasant surprise it was to see none other than Derek Hale standing in all his gloomy glory at the four feet of display case that separated them.

**"JESUSAURUS CHRIST."**

If the young couple was pegging him with another bewildered stare, Stiles didn't notice. He was too busy wondering whether he was seeing things, or dreaming, or on drugs. Would he put it past Jessica to slip some kind of hallucinogen into his Poweraide earlier? Probably not.

It wasn't until the werewolf said his name in that familiar low rumble that the illusion quickly shifted to a reality. Derek-mother-fucking-Hale was here.

At his ice cream shop.


	2. Chapter 2

You wouldn't think a leather jacket and simple pair of jeans stood out in public, but when they were being worn by Derek Hale, any exterior components were considered peripheral. The man himself exuded supremacy in every way - quite a talent for someone who'd spent a majority of his life in solitude away from most humans, who'd often feel threatened by a mere glance from those intimidating amber eyes. The fact that his brow was perpetually stabbing into the bridge of his nose didn't help either.

Stiles filed through the reasons in his mind as to why Derek would need to put on his big bad wolf act in an **ice cream shop** of all places. Was he about to rob them or something? Start huffing and puffing, maybe?

The couple still waiting at one of the tables looked as if they were about to witness a brawl, and who could blame them? Stiles' own concern probably didn't ease their worries any further.

The adam's apple in his throat bobbed once before the boy finally spoke. "Uhh… hey, Derek…?" He semi-asked, the question in his voice prompted by the werewolf's own baffled expression.

The millisecond pause between Derek opening his mouth and moving his lips to speak seemed to elicit a surge of adrenaline that set everyone's hair on end, as if the older boy were about to breath fire.

"What are you doing here?"

Stiles was speechless for a bit before looking down and letting out a short laugh. The humor in his face when he made eye contact again did not mirror onto the werewolves' in the slightest. "Seriously? The goofy hat and name tag doesn't give you any clues? And anyway, shouldn't **I** be the one asking that?"

"I…" Derek stopped himself before answering, letting out the breath he'd saved for his explanation, and averted his eyes. Typical Derek Hale habit.

"Well? Did you need to see me? Is something going on?" The seventeen year old was becoming uneasy under the pressure of Derek's silence, or at least more so than usual. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "… Is the pack making you get ice cream because you lost in a game of rock-paper-scissors?"

"_**No**_. It's just…" He cut himself off once more, right when Stiles thought he had cracked him. The werewolf looked him straight in the eyes as he replied, "It doesn't concern you."

Of course. Since when did anything ever concern Stiles? He was used to being left out of all his friends' business after all. Why should this time be any different?

"Fine. Keep your little secretive secrets of secrecy." The boy dismissed the subject with an eye roll. "If you're not gonna buy anything, dude, then could you move along? I've got customers."

Derek glanced back at the two lone high schoolers in Stone Cold and scoffed. "Right. I can tell." After getting a good look at Derek's face, the girl swooned a bit, straightening her posture so her breasts appeared larger. This in turn caused the jealous boyfriend to sneer and scoot his chair in her line of sight.

Stiles' pressed his lips together. Derek Hale, bewitching every female gaze within a 20 mile radius? Not surprising in the least.

The same enchantment, however, didn't seem to phase Jessica as she came back out with a refill for the birthday cake ice cream. One look at the older man and her eyes grew as wide as dinner plates.

"… Do we owe money?"

"Jessica, meet my friend, Derek." The boy wasn't even sure the term "friend" was fitting in light of their overall estranged relationship, but felt that maybe it'd ease the tension wafting throughout the shop if they knew Mr. Jailbreak wasn't just some walking WANTED poster.

"… Do we owe your friend money?"

Stiles stifled his laughter, having experienced the exact same apprehension she was feeling when first meeting Derek, and placed a reassuring hand on Jessica's shoulder. "Look, I know he's a little rough around the edges, but don't worry! He just came to buy something, _right?_" He raised an eyebrow at the werewolf in a silent plea of 'stop freaking people the fuck out and do something normal, quick!' Without giving him a chance to answer, Stiles took the tub of birthday cake out of his co-worker's hands and set it in the display himself, seeing as she had gone a bit stiff. The couple had approached the counter as soon as they saw their order was ready.

While Stiles took care of them, Jessica was left to deal with his shady friend. She put on a smile, albeit timid, and asked in a professional voice, "What can I get you, sir?"

Derek sighed through his nose, eyes boring into the side of Stiles' fuzzy head. Nonetheless, he would go along with it, if only so Goldilocks here wouldn't end up hitting a silent alarm on him or something. He ended up going with the first thing that he saw on the overhead menu.

"I'll have a… cookie."

"Okay… What kind?" Jessica was almost afraid her question would offend him in some bizarre way.

"Chocolate chip."

"Sure thing!" She rushed out from under his stare, despite that he was looking up at the menu most of the time, to grab a pair of tongs and the little wax paper baggie they used to place cookies in.

By this time, Stiles had handed the young lovers their cones and rung them up. The boyfriend received a few pennies back and decided he didn't want so little change inhabiting his pockets for months to come, never to be used unless one was buying a single stick of gum. His eyes spotted the colorful "TIPS" label stuck to its jar, adorned with cartoony drawings of ice cream and banana splits.

Stiles barely held in the groan that wanted to escape his lips. _'Oh god. Please don't do it, please don't do it, just pleeeease spare me this once…'_

_**-clink clank-**_

Alas, the tip jar beckoned.

"Somebody once told me that Stone Cold's great employee's

Aren't the best singers around

I said yep what a concept

We're all just a bunch of teens in debt

And we could all use a little chaaaange~"

…..

_*snort*_

Okay, at least there was _some_ kind of rise out of the crowd this time, despite it being a bunch of snickering from the couple who'd caused this whole thing to happen. So maybe the tune from "All Star" wasn't the coolest jam around, but it beat all the other ooey-gooey jingles Stiles had to pick from. It was the first one he'd memorized, to be honest.

Normally, if there was more than one employee on the floor, they all had to join in and sing the tip jar tune. But, since Stiles had neglected to consult with Jessica about which song they'd be doing, and with the poor girl still slightly abashed by the less than friendly-looking customer, he had regrettably gone solo.

A tentative look at Derek's reaction just made the situation all the more humiliating. The werewolf's eyes had opened three sizes wider than anyone thought those sharp soul-starer's of death could, and although it was subtle, getting any kind of feedback from Derek Hale was a quite a feat.

Mr. and Mrs. Giggles had finally left the counter and headed back outside, the amusement obviously too much for them to handle, or so Stiles thought with disdain. Tension hung in the air like dust in an old library, the kind that makes you go into a coughing fit every ten seconds (Stiles briefly thought back to his own terrible experiences with mild asthma as a kid.)

Honestly, the boy wouldn't mind if somebody broke the ice already, and that 'somebody' happened to be Jessica.

"Okay! So, that'll be $1.50, sir," she chirped in an strained happy tone.

Derek snapped out of his stupor almost flawlessly, showing no sign that he was ever affected in the first place as he laid the one dollar bill and fifty cents on the counter.

Stiles moved to the sink, his sulky back facing away from Derek and any lingering mortification in the atmosphere. It was kind of comical, actually, how pouty the boy had become.

"Hey, Stiles-"

"DON'T. Just. Don't. This is my job, Derek. This is the cruel fate I resigned myself to in order to make money, because I kind of need it to get into college and yeah it's not the best job out there and I'm sure my father isn't too proud of the choices I've made, but it's not like there's much I can do about it when I've been cast out by everyone else."

"Why are you talking like you've joined the prostitution ring?" Jessica chuckled, yet Stiles continued to ramble.

"And to be honest I'm not the one who made the rule about having to sing every time a customers tips us and I bet you'd do it too if it meant half your pay! In fact it's not all that bad, every once in a while I put a smile on someone's face and that's what it's all about isn't it? Bringing joy to the poor unfortunate souls of our fair city! So don't judge me, man, don't you-"

**"STILES."**

"Huhhyeah?" The high schooler jumped from the biting tone and quickly made it to look like he had just moved to rest his arms on the counter top.

"I. Don't. Care."

There was no lie in Derek's voice, and Stiles actually became a bit crestfallen at the fact that his friend(?) couldn't give two shits about his problems. Nevertheless, he played it cool.

"Oh?"

Derek glanced at Jessica for a split second before focusing back on Stiles, as if hesitant to say what he was about to say. "I just wanted to tell you… to keep an eye out around here."

"…. Oooo… kaayy? Is that, like… are you thre-"

"No, I'm not threatening you, I'm telling you to watch your back."

"Ah ha, okay, and you realize that doesn't sound any less threatening, right?"

The werewolf let out a frustrated huff from his nose and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I'm _saying _that there's something weird going on around this area lately. Just…" for emphasis, he pointed a finger at the boy, "...be careful."

Those were two words Stiles rarely heard from the big guy. _Plenty_ of times from his friends, yes, but Derek? It was… strange, but in a good way. At least now Stiles knew that Mr. Sourwolf cared about his wellbeing to some extent.

"Right. Will do," he responded, trying to remain skeptical so as to mask how touched the teenager felt. "Same to you, man. Not like you really need to be told that or anything, just… yeah."

Once he got his point across, the werewolf grabbed his bag of a single chocolate chip cookie that he probably wouldn't eat anyway, and turned to exit the shop. As a last minute thought, he added, "If you see anything, let me know."

"No problem," Stiles gave the older man a thumbs up before letting his arm inharmoniously drop onto the counter again. What he was supposed to look out for, Stiles would never know.

A few feet away from the door, Derek stopped and put a hand into his pocket. Jessica took a couple steps back, afraid he had a concealed weapon, basically assuming the worst about what could happen. It was a relief to see that all Derek pulled out was 25 cents. To Stiles, however…

_'Oh __**shit **__no.'_

Derek smirked, and flicked the coin backwards. It landed in the tip jar with a solid ring.

Curse that werewolf aim!

Stiles began singing with a sneer.

"Heigh-ho Heigh-ho

We thank you for your dough

We come and work and play all day…"

Derek left the shop, the grin still etched into his smug features.

"Heigh-ho heigh-ho heiiiiii'm not even gonna…" Stiles swiped his hand at the door in a dismissive gesture and ended the song short. If there wasn't anyone left to hear his singing, then he sure as hell wasn't going to finish the performance. _'Screw you, Derek. Screw youuuu.'_

Meanwhile, Jessica had shoved the cash register drawer back into its slot and stared at the exit for a good few seconds before saying anything. "Holy shit. Dude, you have interesting tastes in friends."

"Tell me about it," Stiles grumbled, burying his head into his arms on the edge of the display case.

"What the heck was he talking about, anyway? 'If you see anything, let me know'? Sounds like some shady ass business to me, haha!" The girl picked up the receipt Derek hadn't bothered to take and threw it away. "You sure you never got in trouble with the mafia or something?"

"Pfft. If _only_ that were the case," Stiles huffed.

"Well, at least he left. I think the murderous aura around that guy was keeping customers away." Jessica yawned and looked at the clock, figuring it hadn't changed much since she last looked at it a minute or two ago. "Oh hey, before I forget, could you take the trash out back? It's starting to overflow. Mr. Manager won't be too happy to see that when he comes in tomorrow."

"Um, yeah, isn't that your job?" Stiles asked suspiciously. It wasn't the first time this girl had tried to push her duties onto him.

"I can't! My doctor said I'm not allowed to do anything strenuous that would put pressure on my back."

"Oh… right." Jessica's party incident. It was a lesson to all that night at Tracy Cardella's birthday bash that standing drunkenly at the end of a water slide was not the smartest thing to do when you had a 200 lb lacrosse player coming your way.

_**bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz**_

"Oh!" Jessica pulled out her vibrating iPhone and checked the caller ID. Judging by how her face lit up, one could only guess who it happened to be. "Hello? Hi, babe! What's up?" She started heading towards the employee's bathroom on the opposite end from the kitchen, mouthing a quick "thank you" to Stiles before continuing the conversation with her 21 year old dreamboat boyfriend. Stiles watched as the door closed behind her, the normally monotone quality of her voice suddenly taking on a certain lilt.

Stiles rolled his eyes and dragged himself to the kitchen for trash collecting, making sure to grab the smaller can underneath the counter. There were two large bins near the back exit, a few medium sized ones in each customer bathroom, and one in their manager's office. He approached the big cahoonas first, gathering the edges of the trash bag together and heaving upward. It took a couple tries, but he finally managed to dislodge the hefty bag from it's confines.

'Wow, this is lighter than I thought,' the teenager mused. It wasn't until he pulled out a half empty trash bag with a gaping hole in the bottom did he realize _why_ he'd miraculously gained super strength. He looked down at the plethora of cups, wrappings, and sludgy ice cream residue that had decided to make the pit of the bin its new home. Stiles grimaced and let out an irritated grunt.

"Seriously?! Could this day get any worse?"


	3. Chapter 3

The back door behind Stone Cold burst open, a metallic boom resonating throughout the alley and scaring a few rats that had gathered in the vicinity for a feast of abandoned food droppings.

"OW."

The same boom rattled Stiles' leg that he'd used to kick the door in such a heroic manner, which instantly seeded a deep feeling of regret within him. Wouldn't coach be happy to hear that one of his players had broken his own leg trying to take out the trash, even if he _was_ benched most of the time… Thankfully, the pain didn't linger too long after the initial stunt, and Stiles was able to move it around just fine.

He nearly stumbled down the three steps onto the pavement, but managed to use the trash bin's weight as a counter to keep him from falling. Once he'd planted himself on solid ground, the boy adjusted his grip on the big barrel and waddled over to the dumpster across the way. The smell coming from the bottom of the trash bin was something unholy, that much was for sure. Stiles held his breath until he could set it down near his destination, taking in a few gulps of air before completing his task.

Instead of struggling to put the filth that had poured out of the trash bag he was trying to remove earlier into _another_ bag, Stiles thought it easier and faster to simply empty it out into the dumpster directly. After that, all he'd have to do was collect the rest of the trash inside and do the same. If only he still got paid for doing this at home.

Stiles got himself into a sturdy position, did the whole spit n' rub routine with his hands - which he ended up wiping onto his apron anyway - and bent down to put one hand underneath the bin and one around the side. He let it scrape against the lip of the dumpster until he could tilt the barrel enough to start purging it of its acidic-smelling waste.

_'Awesome. At this rate I might just be able to go home earl- OH FU..!'_

The weight balanced on the dumpster's edge caused the bin to slip out of Stiles' grasp, who was in too awkward of a stance to catch it in time and keep the garbage from sprawling out into the alleyway after hitting the ground with hollow thump.

"You gotta be kidding me. Freaking…" The boy threw his hands in the air and started rubbing his forehead. It was official. The universe was definitely against him tonight. There was no way he could leave all this crap here without the manager noticing, thus meant the agonizing process of picking up every single piece of trash and disposing of them individually. Super.

Since this little job was going to take longer than he expected, the seventeen year old went to prop the back door open so he could hear if someone came into the shop. That bell could practically be heard from a mile away, after all. No doubt Jessica was still chatting it up with her boy toy in the employee's bathroom, so there was no hope of her coming out anytime soon.

Stiles returned to the carnage he'd wrought and was mildly surprised to find that the rats were already scavenging about to see what they could eat in the pile.

"Oh, should I come back later then?" he jabbed playfully, but the rodents didn't pay any attention to the big goofy human wearing a silly uniform. Stiles sighed, defeated by the rats and life in general. "Well I'm glad I could make _someone's_ day." He heard a couple of them squeak when some still intact waffle cones were unearthed. "I'm be expecting a big tip for this, you know that, right?"

Listen to him. Talking to some rats as if they could actually understand him. What was this, Ratatouille? The down-on-his-luck employee befriending rodents so they could do his job for him? Somehow, Stiles didn't think he was gonna be that lucky.

The boy sat down to rest for a minute or two before getting back to work, reversing his apron so that he wouldn't get the back of his work pants dirty. He watched the furry squeak toys enjoy their food, and smiled when one of them dipped their hands in a puddle of water nearby to clean itself. In a way, rats were a lot like gray, scruffy, disease-ridden gerbils, he thought.

"I bet you guys would appreciate my singing, right?"

One of the rodents raised it's head and stared at the teenager, tiny chest rising and falling in rapid puffs. The tiny pink ears twitched and turned as if listening for something, and just when Stiles thought the little guy would magically start talking, it scurried off into the shadows. In fact, the whole fleet of rats decided to follow suit and return to whatever hole or crevice they came from in haste.

"Dudes! C'mon, I… I was just kidding!" The boy shrugged and laughed. He wasn't sure whether to be offended or amused. "Wow, so my vocal abilities are renowned even throughout the animal kingdom, is that it?"

_**-CLASHHH-**_

The explicit sound of glass shattering…

Stiles whipped his head this way and that, attempting to pinpoint where the noise came from, but the surround sound brick walls had obscured its origin. There was nothing at the mouth of the alley, and nothing down at the other end as far as he could see (one of the lamps was busted over there so it was difficult to make anything out to begin with.) But wherever the clamor came from, it was close.

"Jessica?" Stiles called out, keeping his voice low. "Y… you out here?"

The boy leaned back from his spot on the ground to see more past the dumpsters, squinting as if it'd help his eyes to adjust any faster to the darkness. Was it really this late already? Well, Autumn did bring shorter days after all. Curse atmospheric science and the Earth's ever-tilting axis!

The teenager hoisted himself up off the grimy concrete and wiped his hands on the white work pants he wore, mentally punching himself for forgetting that his apron was twisted around the back. But his eyes remained glued to the hazy passageway ahead. Heart rate quickened, palms clammy, a cold sweat covering his skin - a feeling he became all too familiar with these last few months at Beacon Hills. Fear was practically second nature to him, although that didn't mean he'd built up nerves of steel. The boy wasn't above being a complete chicken at times, nor was he ashamed to admit it. This might be one of those times…

Stiles drew closer to the part of the alley veiled from light and felt his feet lock into place. He didn't want to approach this possible threat without some sort of protection. He'd learned that lesson one too many times before. His right arm sprung out to grab the object closest to him, which happened to be a lid from one of the metal trash cans. Stiles held it up in front of him, just like his hero Captain America (ixnay the super soldier strength), and shuffled forward a few more steps.

"Who's there?" Stiles managed to ask with some conviction. The following silence did little to appease his visibly quivering hands. His eyes narrowed once he noticed two faint, glowing circles that suddenly appeared in front of him. The breath in his throat hitched when they started hovering towards him rather quickly, low rumbling sounds emanating from the mystery creature. It leapt...!

A startled howl echoed throughout the night, both from Stiles… and the alley cat that had surprised him.

"WHAT THE- OH MY GOD, CAT. WHY?! JUST WHY?!"

The little black feline sprinted from its perch on a dumpster to the ground and put a good amount of distance between it and the stranger who had so rudely interrupted its rat hunt. It hissed once as a warning not to come near, and loped off to find another place to lie and wait for it's dinner.

"Goddamit." Stiles sighed leaned back against the dumpster. He put a hand over his thumping heart to help calm himself down, but it didn't do much. The adrenaline coursing through him messed with his senses. Any small sound or movement made him jittery, even the wind bellowing through the alley was somewhat unsettling.

Stiles teased the thought of turning in early for the night and finishing up garbage duty tomorrow, but concluded that he didn't want to risk the wrath of his boss at tomorrow's shift. He'd been yelled at for doing something stupid once before, and dear lord… A man could be drenched in this guy's spittle within a ten minute long conversation. Stiles had been so tempted to use the "say it, don't spray it" line at one point, but he reluctantly kept himself in check, which is one of the reasons why the boy wasn't working at a gas station instead of Beacon Hill's favorite creamery.

Stiles let his head droop and eyes close for a few moments to regain his composure. Now more than ever, he wished his friends were here to keep him company. Alas, everyone had more important things to do, none of which involved the sad, lonely ice cream employee. And hey, he wasn't a baby, he knew they were genuinely busy sometimes. Still, the least they could do is visit his shop since it wasn't a secret that he worked there. The fact that Derek was the first to do so, despite that he came on "business", still blew Stiles' mind. Although, it did make him kind of happy when the wolf hybrid showed up. Neither of them had been in the best of spirits, but it did make work more fun if only for that short time. Stiles wondered if Derek would ever come by simply to say hi…

_'Tch, yeah, dream on. Might as well suck it up and get back to work before Jessica comes looking for me,'_ he thought. The blonde would have a riot if she found out how Stiles nearly pissed himself silly because of a mangy old cat.

Eyes open and self-esteem slightly rebooted, the first thing Stiles saw was a dirty puddle at his feet. Half of his right shoe had been soaking in it for a while now, which immediately put a downer on his mood again. Hopefully these new white Vans he'd bought were machine washable.

_'Stupid puddle,'_ Stiles grimaced at his own muted reflection after the water had stilled. _'Who's that pathetic-looking guy? Oh, hey! It's m-'_

His train of self-berating thoughts came to a halt when the image he saw in the puddle was not only himself, but something else entirely.

And this "something else" happened to be big, hairy, and sporting a menacing pair of illuminated yellow eyes from the half extended fire escape ladder above.

"Derek..?" Stiles said softly without even thinking. It was the first word that had come to his mind. Who else had eyes like that, or teeth that were sharp, and shiny, and… frothing?

_**"GRRRRAAAHHHHHOOOWW!"**_

Stiles whirled around and ducked before the unknown beast could tackle him to the alley floor. It instead slammed up against the opposite brick wall and into a couple of clunky trashcans. This didn't jar the creature in the slightest, however. Stiles barely had time to dodge another attack as it swung and arm through the air and made four gaping slashes in the side of the dumpster he'd been backed up against not but a second ago, sludge and a couple of banana peels poking their way out from the damage. Damn, this thing was fast! And it most certainly wasn't Derek now that Stiles had a better look at the thing.

It seemed to be another werewolf, but not one Stiles knew. A little smaller than Derek when he wolfed out - borderline emaciated, to be honest - matted brown fur, and oh my god was that blood or mud? The yellow eyes were a dead giveaway, though. Derek's were red because of his Alpha status. So who the heck was this guy and why did he have a beef with a seventeen year old high schooler?!

Stiles backpedaled a bit and held his hands up in a gesture that said he meant no harm. "Woahhh woah woah woah there, buddy! L-let's just take a chill pill and talk this over, okay?"

The surly gnarl coming from his assaulter's throat said it had other plans.

"Or you could just growl at me and drool everywhere like you've been doing that's cool too."

Without warning, the beast lunged.

"SHIT!" Stiles threw the trashcan lid he still had in his hands and made a break for it down the alley. His attacker was anything but phased by the barrage of garbage and trash cans he used to tried and slow it down, so in about three seconds the boy would likely be torn to shreds if he didn't come up with a different game plan on the double.

At the far end of this path, there was a fork leading left or right. Whichever way he chose would decide his fate. Please let whatever god there was out there be on his side! Stiles took a sharp turn right, the gritty concrete making his shoes slide to where he almost fell. His adrenaline was pumping though, so a speedy recovery was made.

And the result…?

Just.

His.

Luck.


	4. Chapter 4

Not only was the chain link fence super high, there was barbed wire strung along the top like freaking Christmas lights! WHY WAS THERE BARBED WIRE ON A STRIP MALL FENCE? Was there a prison around here Stiles didn't know about? Sure, the gun store was just a couple shops down from them and Beacon Hills wasn't short on the occasional shoplifter, but was this really necessary?

There was a little more light in this alley way from the overhead street lamps, so as soon as that big hairy face came lurking from around the corner, Stiles could see every harrowing detail. The sticky patches in its fur shone red against the light's reflection, which confirmed the whole blood or mud issue. Great, so this wasn't the first time Mr. Big Bad Wolf had gone moonlighting as a murderous lunatic.

Stiles had no more time to think as the werewolf closed in on him. Was this it? The end of his short, _somewhat_ sweet life? This was almost worse than the time he got thrashed by that rotten old prune Allison called a grandfather. Could this be the thing Derek wanted him to watch out for earlier? Dammit, and the guy was here not too long ago! Guess the boy would never know for sure now that he was about to get torn to pieces. He flinched when his vision suddenly went dark, assuming the beast had struck quicker than he could blink. At least it was a quick, painless death.

It wasn't until he opened his eyes again that Stiles realized he hadn't given up the ghost just yet. There were sounds of a struggle - loud yowling mixed in with some sharp grunts and yelps. The crazed werewolf was twisting around like it had been set on fire, claws trying to grasp at something small and black that had fastened itself skin deep into the creature.

_'CAT.'_

The canine VS feline match continued on as Stiles watched slightly horrified. It was amusing to say the least, seeing this little kitty fighting tooth and nail against something 10x it's size. If only he had so much blind courage.

But now was his chance! Stiles snuck by in a hurry while the werewolf's back was turned and made a break for it back down the alley leading to Stone Cold. If he could just somehow convince Jessica that they needed to leave because of a gang brawl going on outside the shop, he might actually survive the night! Wait until he told Derek abou-

"OOF!"

For a second, Stiles thought he had run into a brick wall, but when big, strong hands wrapped around his arms to keep him steady, that speculation went out the window. He nearly panicked, thinking the beast had caught up to him, yet he grasped at what felt like a worn leather material, saturated with the familiar smell of pine and smoke…

Stiles shook his head of any dizziness that plagued him from the impact and looked up at the was just enough light to see the hardened contours of Derek's face staring at him, eyebrows furiously pressing downward as they tended to do.

"Derek!" he exclaimed, eyes misting out of relief.

There was a fraction of urgency in the alpha's voice when he asked, "What are you doing here?"

"There's a thing. A thing that- that's back there! And it's big and trying to kill me and the cat, but it saved my life even though it was kind of a jerk to me earlier! I just… I don't even…!" He shrugged hysterically.

Derek took hold of him more firmly so the boy would focus. "Stiles, where's th-"

_**"GRRROOOOOOARRUUUU!"**_

Stiles saw the metallic flash in Derek's eyes when he set his sights on the rogue werewolf at the end of the alley. It was an interesting thing, seeing the transformation up close and personal. A deep red hue bled into Derek's irises like spilt ink, and as his lips curled upward, the pearly canines became grisly tools for tearing through flesh. Stiles absentmindedly thought of how it'd feel to be bitten by those teeth, not even hard; just enough to leave an imprint on one's skin. It was an odd direction his mind was going considering their predicament.

He looked back to see the ravenous creature stalking towards the two of them, it's feral nature from earlier suddenly digressing. It sensed the aura of a higher ranking werewolf, but not once did the other falter in it's actions, or it's intent. Nothing was going to pacify this beast, at least not without confrontation.

In other news, the absence of the cat was disheartening on Stiles' part.

"Get out of here," Derek murmured to the boy before pushing him off what was essentially going to be the battlefield.

"No, wait, Derek-"

"I've been tracking this guy for days. Finally, he shows his ugly mug."

"What're you, the Godfather? Dude, seriously, there's something wrong with this thing, I don't know what it is, but he's not right in the head. I was thinking rabies or…" he ended his sentence with a shrug, hoping Derek had a better explanation of what was going on.

"Well, judging by the seven people he's killed, that wouldn't be too far from the truth."

Oh shit, he _knew_ this guy had racked up a body count! You could tell just by looking into those crazy bloodlust eyes. Funny, though, Stiles hadn't heard about any deaths in Beacon Hills due to "animal attacks" as of late.

The sudden fierce bark from their deranged assailant nearly sent Stiles' heart rocketing into his throat as instinct told him to latch onto the back of Derek's jacket. The taller man backed up, but only to distance Stiles further from the situation. He turned his head to the side, keeping one eye on the beast as he spoke.

"You need to go. NOW."

Stiles was about to reply, but he'd been beaten to the punch. It seems their friend was tired of being ignored, and it launched itself directly towards them with both sets of claws arched and ready for the kill.

Derek let out one of his inhuman roars, the tendons in his neck becoming as tight as strings on a guitar. Without further adieu, the leather-clad werewolf sprung into action just as quickly.

Because Derek wasn't fully wolfed out, there was a slight disadvantage in terms of stature and strength, but he used this in his favor by tackling the creature at its waist and bringing it down to ground level. The two tumbled for a bit before ramming into one of the dumpsters, causing it to ring like a thunderous gong, and Derek took this moment while his opponent was temporarily stunned to kick him back a good yard or so.

Stiles furthered himself from the fight and glanced back at the alleyway door leading into Stone Cold, hoping that no one could hear the clash of the titans going on just outside the shop. Good thing the manager hadn't come in today, or he'd certainly be out of a job.

Derek didn't give the werewolf a chance to recover as he took hold of it's grimy fur and attempted to pin the beast down in preparation for the thrashing it deserved. But once all four paws were solidly planted on the ground beneath it, Derek was spring loaded backwards, sandwiched between his opponent and the brick wall. His lungs were briefly devoid of air until he was grabbed and thrown overhead into the fire escape across from them, landing on the concrete with a thud that made Stiles hiss in empathy.

Sure, Derek had told him to book it, but since when was Stiles a terrible person who abandoned his friends? Plus, he had to make sure the rogue wolf didn't try to escape down his end of the alley. If this guy murdered seven people like Derek said, then there's no way they could afford to lose him.

Although running away might've been the more desirable option now that their villain had turned its attention towards the helpless teen. "Oh shit…" Stiles breathed. He ran.

It was a futile effort and he knew it, seeing as his little limbs couldn't compare to a four-legged hound hopped up on steroids… or acid… or both. Either way, he was doomed unless Derek saved him in the nick of time as was the norm, and once he reached the end of the alley...

No Derek.

Stopping to turn and face his to-be killer…

Still no Derek.

This is the part where Stiles started getting a little worried, and why shouldn't he be when all two-hundred-something pounds of pure muscle and insanity was coming towards him? The boy looked past the beast to see if Derek had taken that blow harder than he'd thought, or if he was on his way over… and noticed that they were alone. No sign of the guy anywhere. Seriously? He'd just left? What kind of Dark Knight shit was this?!

"Oh god."

Stiles could see tomorrow's headlines now: _HAIRY SERIAL KILLER STRIKES AGAIN. 8TH VICTIM THIS WEEK - SOME PANSY-LOOKING KID IN PINK STRIPED OUTFIT AND ICE CREAM HAT. WILL NOT BE MISSED._

What a way to go.

**"GRRRRUUURRRR!"**

Stiles theory of Derek actually being related to Batman might've been plausible as the now jacket-less man dropped down from above and landed squarely on the werewolf's shoulders. The creature tried to knock its surprise attacker off by flailing and pulling at the clothing Derek wore, which was taking a beating itself from those vicious claws. Little did anyone know that in the time all eyes were taken off Derek, he'd been granted time to transform even further into his werewolf state. It was hard to tell with how much they were moving, but there was no mistake when Stiles saw that the man's face had developed a more animalistic quality as well as his eyebrows suddenly taking a vacation. He would never understand the logic of that, but now wasn't the time for such questions.

Derek rode that thing like a bucking bronco, nearly losing his grip a couple times, but judging by how sloppy the movements of his opponent were becoming, one could tell that it was finally taking its toll on the beast's stamina. Thus, the golden opportunity presented itself.

With Derek's right arm wrapped around it's burly neck and his left palm shoved against the side of it's face, he jerked the creature's head to the right in one harsh motion, which was followed by a chilling snap that sent goosebumps up Stiles' body.

They dropped like an anchor in a matter of seconds, Derek still perfectly perched on the werewolf's back and cupping the head. He moved one hand over it's neck and pressed hard through the hair, waiting to feel some sort of twitch from the artery beneath it's skin.

Stiles pulled himself out of the stupefied haze he was in just enough to inch closer and ask in a cracked voice, "Is he… D-did you kill it?"

No answer from Derek who put a hand up in a subtle way of saying "zip it". They stood in stagnant silence for one more minute, but there was no rise and fall in the beast's chest any longer, nor the quiet drum of a heartbeat. It seemed the mongrel was put down for good.

Derek rose from crouching and rolled his shoulders until he heard a symphony of pops. All that "bull riding" practically gave him whiplash. Any gashes or bruising his adversary had inflicted on him were long gone thanks to that super efficient werewolf healing. Stiles watched in wonder as the man's wound melded together like rain drops on a windshield, encasing the deep red lines in a new layer of skin. That would never cease to be cool. And, slowly but surely, Derek's eyes, teeth, and epic sideburns returned to their more human appearance. The same could not be said for their furry foe, however.

Stiles nudged the beast with his foot and snorted. "You took him out pretty quick, man." He looked up at Derek who turned his head and spat out some dirt and hair that had made its way into his mouth during the fray. "From how hellbent this werewolf was on ripping our throats out you'd think there'd be more of a challenge."

"He's not a werewolf."

"Oh… well then he does a great impression of one."

"Breaking a it's neck wouldn't kill it, and the heart stopped beating."

Okay, that made sense. If he remembered correctly, the only sure way of killing a werewolf was slicing it in two. Just thinking about it gave Stiles the chills. "Soooo what else do you think it could be?"

"I can't say. But whatever this guy is, he wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders. I could smell the crazy on him as soon as I got here."

Stiles let out a few short laughs at Derek's comment, but stopped when he saw the older man's unamused expression glowering at him. "Well, at least he won't be killing anymore people. It's weird how there haven't been any news on this guy, though. Seven murders would kind of be a big deal in Beacon Hills…"

"The murders weren't done here," Derek said, straightening the moss green t-shirt that he'd have to throw away due to all the rips and tears.

"Then wher-"

"He went to different cities in California and killed one person in each of them. This was his next haunting ground, and _you_ were his next victim from the looks of it."

Derek said all this like it was the most blah thing in the world, and it left Stiles with the feeling a girl gets when their boyfriend delivers a shitty excuse as to why he didn't call her back last night.

He stood there with his mouth open for a few seconds before forming a coherent sentence. "Uuummm, okay? Why _me_, specifically? Do I have some sort of monster-nip sprayed all over my body, or maybe a big neon sign that says 'EAT AT STILES, OR HEY JUST EAT STILES BECAUSE HE'S TOTALLY OKAY WITH IT!'"

Derek allowed for a pause as he thought of a way to explain something to the teenager. "It's… because of me, I think."

Not that hard to wrap one's mind around, honestly. "Whatd'ya mean?"

"All the people this thing has killed… I knew them."

The boy became solemn. "Oh, dude, I'm… I'm sorry, I…" He knew Derek had lost enough family as it was, and now there were more Hale casualties? When would it end?

"Don't be. I didn't know them all that well. My parents and uncle were the ones who had a history with them. I barely remember their faces from when I was a kid."

"So you weren't related?"

"Not as far as I know." Derek shoved the hulking beast onto its back to get a better look at it. "But for some reason, this guy had a problem with them."

Stiles crossed over to where Derek stood so he wasn't so visible in the alley's entrance. All the while he racked his brain for a conclusion as to why this would be happening the way it was. A pattern, a motivation - anything! But the detective in him suffered from a lack of information. "What do you think it means then?" he asked as if Derek had all the answers at this point.

"I don't know. But ever since… _then_…" Derek still had a hard time recalling it, but Stiles could guess what he was referring to, "… the attacks have become more personal, I guess. The last victim killed was a friend of my sister's who'd visit every so often. She'd sometimes play with me and my siblings."

"Another werewolf?"

"No. Human. She tried to keep in touch with Laura and I after what happened, but it was too dangerous for her to be around us at the time, so we cut ties."

"That sucks, man." Stiles couldn't think of anything else to say.

"And now this bastard went after you. No matter how you look at it, it seems like he has some sort of vendetta against my family altogether."

"Too bad we don't know why," the boy looked down and kicked at some loose gravel on the ground, noticing that his once virgin white uniform was now soiled with dirt and sweat. He'd have to get it dry-cleaned by tomorrow or his manager would have a cow.

"No, but I'll find out." Derek clenched his hands into fists, visibly enraged despite his cool outer demeanor. He wouldn't admit it, but Stiles knew the older man was more or less in pain at the moment. The anguish of losing his family and the only other people he could call friends must've been quite a weight on his mind. There was only so much hardship one could go through, even if you were a big bad alpha.

"I wanna help." The words left his mouth without time given to think about it.

"Help? How?" Derek snorted. Might as well hear him out.

"In any way I can," Stiles shrugged. "If we can find out which cities this dude hit, I may be able to pinpoint where he came from, who he was, and why he hated you guys so much. We can even get a DNA sample from the hair and run it down at Deaton's lab."

"Stiles, I don-"

"And I promise I won't get involved with anything _too_ dangerous or out of my league, okay? I'll leave all that grunt work up to you and your werewolfyness," he reassured with a roll of his eyes. "You're just gonna have to accept the fact that I'm helping you out , bro, because I'm gonna do it either way. You know that, right?"

That was all too true. Derek shook his head, feigning frustration when really Stiles had somehow managed to lift his mood, if only a little. He knew it'd be difficult to do the research all on his own, and now that the initial threat was taken care of, perhaps it wouldn't hurt to let someone lend a hand?

"Fine." Derek could actually see how much Stiles was trying to keep his elation at bay. Getting so excited over the smallest of things... what a goober. "But if we're doing this, you need t-"

_**WEEEOOOOOOOOO**_

The warning blare of a police siren almost sent Derek back into a werewolf tizzy had the flashing red and blue lights not appeared against the building walls. Stiles, too, nearly jumped clean out of his own shoes, thinking the noise was the cry of another unfriendly guest. The pop of gravel against tires came to a stop just around the corner, and two distinct clicks of car doors being opened triggered a greater panic attack in Stiles than facing that rogue werewolf earlier.

"Oh crap!" He glanced down at the supernatural beast. There was no way the police would believe this thing was just some drunk guy in a Halloween costume. It wasn't even October! They wouldn't want to stick around and explain the situation to the cops anyway, not with "HELLO I'M A WANTED MAN" written all over Derek's face. "We need to get this guy outta here. Help me!"

The alpha felt he had no choice when Stiles began dragging the creature by its armpits down the alleyway like a hobo who'd just found a sack of money. He aided in the boy's frantic scramble, picking up the werewolf by its legs and hauling it as far as they could before Stiles had to drop his end and allow the red that had gathered in his face to disperse. "Man, is this a werewolf or a moose?!" Derek ignored the ill-timed weight joke and shoved the body forward to keep them going, almost knocking Stiles back on his ass.

Voices could be heard from two concerned police officers who'd received a call about some disturbance near this shopping strip. They happened to be in the area when the coordinates were relayed on their police scanner, their guess being that it was probably a few delinquents kids causing trouble again. Last week they saw two pairs of sneakers strung up on the telephone wires overlooking the road. It was the "tough guy's " way of establishing dominance in this day and age, like a gorilla beating it's chest. As for those on the other end of those shoes… well, they'd be sucking food through a straw for the next few weeks, that much could be said.

"Remind me again what the report from that old lady was?" One of the officers asked his partner, brushing a piece of lent off his overly starched uniform.

"Apparently, Mrs. Brigsby heard a 'terrible ruckus coming from the alley next to Henderson Jewelers and Stone Cold'; said that there was… 'howling and barking'."

"So, basically, we came here to break up a fight between two stray dogs. Think she meant to call animal control?"

The other cop shrugged and adjusted his brown leather jacket before approaching the alley. "Might as well humor the woman if that's all it is."

"Right…" He followed after his partner. He was relatively new to their precinct, so his expectations for an action-packed, Robo Cop life on the force hadn't waned just yet, unlike the older officer.

Meanwhile, Stiles could see the policemen's shadows closing in on them from across the way. Luckily, they were too deep in the shadows to be seen, but that wouldn't hold as cover for long.

"Dammit!" the teen whispered to himself. He'd gotten in trouble for fooling around on private property, interfering in an investigation, and pretty much being in places he shouldn't be. _This_ however… There was no rational excuse good enough to save their skins.

No choice. They had to get rid of the body _now_.

"Okay, help me lift him up, Derek."

"Why?"

"Just hurry!"

Nothing left to do but trust Stiles, Derek thought. The notion left a bad taste in his mouth, or maybe it was the rotting stench of garbage nearby? Probably both. The teenager started to direct the werewolf's carcass over towards one of the open the dumpsters, and that's when the lightbulb came on in Derek's head.

With one big heave, the two managed to stuff their deceased assailant inside the pit of raw waste, but they only had a few seconds to catch their breath before Derek noticed the gleam of a couple flashlights.

"_Stiles_…"

There was no time to run or hide. The cops were here, the wanted Derek Hale was exposed, and Stiles just knew he was going to regret what he was about to do for the rest of his short-lived days.

_'Should've written my will sooner…' _Stiles thought as he grabbed the stubbled face in front of him and pulled with all his might."Sorry, Derek."

"Wha-MMPH?!"

It was prickly. Not his actual lips of course, but the area around Derek's mouth tickled Stiles' own as they connected in a forced kiss. Almost immediately, the alpha tried ripping himself away from the boy, which would no doubt be followed by a swift punch to the teenager's face, but Stiles was relentless. Like an awkward octopus, he wrapped his arms around the older man's head and yanked him forward with as much strength as he could muster.

Derek's hands shot up to brace himself against the brick wall, almost too stunned to know what he should do in this unexpected turn of events. He met Stiles gaze, asking through glare alone what the hell he was doing and why hadn't he started running. Those big brown eyes shifted to their left twice as if they wanted Derek to look in that direction, which he did. Once he spotted the cops at the alley's entrance and remembered the predicament they were in, it all started to fall into place.

_Really?_ Making out in a back alley was Stiles' idea of concealing themselves? Could they not just as easily have hidden behind a dumpster? No, of course not. That would make everything too simple. Well, unless these cops were scared of cooties they were pretty much busted.

"What's that?" ask the rookie officer who noticed movement half way down the alley. He and his partner shown their lights on the scene and saw what looked like two people wrestling. "Huh. So it was some punk kids after all. Damn…"

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," replied his partner. He sighed and tongued the inside of his cheek in an exasperated manner.

"What?" Upon closer inspection, some of their faces came into view, which were alarmingly close - too close to be considered a hostile interaction at this point. "Ohhhh…." As an automatic reflex, the policeman lowered his flashlight and shuffled from one foot to the other in embarrassment.

The couple fumbled with each other's hair and clothes like wild animals, one of the kids' legs knocking into a trash can beside them, causing it to fall over. The older officer snorted, amused by how intense they were. It's like nothing else around them existed. Oh, he remembered those days…

Stiles was having a hard time catching his breath while snogging the shit out of Derek, so he opened his mouth to take in some air, not expecting to let out a small moan that was trapped inside.

_Oh my GOD what the fuck was that?! Great, now Derek probably thinks I'm getting off on this.'_

What a surprise it was to the guy when he felt the slippery brush of a tongue against his teeth.

Derek bent his left arm and kept it against the wall as he clasped the small of Stiles' back and eliminated any space left between them. A strained breath of air was released from his nose before he started macking on the other's lips in heated, sensual "bites".

The feeling made Stiles weak in the knees as he combed his fingers through that stupid flippy hair and tried establishing some of his own authority by letting their tongues collide full on. He blushed at the sounds they made and felt a little rush of blood to his nether regions, as if he'd never done this with anyone before... or at least not with a twenty-something year old werewolf dude with anger management issues. Still, that didn't make him any less of a good kisser. _'Oh man how does he __**do**__ that~?' _An impulsive shiver hit him like a 100 degree fever with a temperature to match. Wait, why were they doing this again?

He snuck a peak at the police, making sure they had seen what was happening and, hopefully, didn't plan on coming near. One of the officers was tall, trim, and seemed to be only a few years older than Derek. In fact, he looked sorta familiar…

_'Hey, isn't that the guy my dad works with?'_

The second cop stepped out of a shadow the opposite wall was casting, and lo and behold…

"Oh FUCK!" Stiles mumbled into Derek's mouth. The alpha didn't take notice, however, and merely wrapped his left arm around the boy's waist to join the other.

Sherriff Stilinski squinted through the little amount of light he was offered by the street lamps. He swore he heard something from one of the kids. In fact, he wasn't even sure how old they were. The one person in a short-sleeve was obviously a man due to his height and build, but the other one dressed in what looked like a shocking white and pink-striped uniform…

Before he could get a good look at their faces, the smaller of the two grabbed their lover's hand and smacked it up to her (or his) cheek in what was supposed to be a romantic gesture. Looked more like it hurt, to be honest.

"Should we break this up?" his deputy, Tom Levvy, asked, pointing with his nightstick.

"… Naw. Leave them be. Wouldn't wanna spoil their evening."

"What do we tell the precinct?"

"What we initially thought; couple of strays tangling it up with each other. Not too far from the truth, right?" he smiled and made his way back across the street towards there car.

The younger officer shrugged, responding with a, "Welp, yer the boss," and followed after him.

Stiles saw them leave out of the corner of his eye and released an internal sigh of relief. Looks like their tactic worked. But MAN OH MAN if his dad had seen it was he and Derek, both of them would be lying in an early grave right about now.

"Wow, that was cl- D-Dere-" Stiles tried to break the kiss, but Derek was still too preoccupied with the seventeen year old's pliable lips. Had he not noticed that they were alone? Apparently not since he just kept going with even more fervor than before. You'd think the guy was actually liking this. Then again, it's not like _he_ was being all that objective either. It felt pretty good, actually. He certainly didn't have the willpower to deny it.

He squeezed Derek's shoulder and leaned all his weight into the brick wall, inciting a low grunt from the alpha. There was no more danger, no more police, just them and a lazy game of wolf got your tongue. That is until Stiles felt the point of a long sharp fang against his mouth. Reality had set in.

"Okay, Derek, Derek! They're gone now!"

The werewolf opened his eyes and finally managed to stop after Stiles' insistent push. His pupils were lined with red and dilated from the sexual build up, and sure enough those killer canines were out and ready to go. For what, though, the boy didn't want to know.

"Were… were you about to bite me?"

"… What? No!" Derek sneered, his werewolf features quickly disappearing once more. That question seemed to ground him just a bit.

"Weeeell, your teeth were all fangy and it kinda looked like you were getting a little excited so-"

"I _**wasn't**_ going to bite you, but I'm thinking about it now." he asserted crossly.

The boy flashed a weak smile and nodded. "… Right. Sorry."

Their staring contest didn't last for too much longer as Derek separated himself from the warm body and straightened what little of his shirt he still had. At the same time, Stiles felt Derek's hand leave his butt. He didn't even realize it'd been there, but fat chance he'd bring it up to the guy.

"I-I can't believe that worked, haha…" He figured _somebody_ had to break the ice, but he was left without a reply.

Derek took a look inside the dumpster where they'd stashed the body. It was still dead, thank goodness, but could it stay here unnoticed? If anyone found it, there'd be quite a buzz in the media, and that's the last thing Beacon Hills really needed.

Stiles saw the concerned expression on the older man's face and moseyed on over to see their furry friend. "I'll just cover him up with all the trash from the shop. Smells bad enough already, so I don't think anyone will get suspicious."

"Mm."

Well, that was at least a syllable.

"Ugh… listen, Derek. I'm sorry, okay? I was panicking and didn't know what else to do. That was my _dad_ for crying out loud! I mean, we would've been in such deep shit, I just-"

"It's fine."

"…. wh…?"

"I said don't worry about it."

"…. Okay?"

Was it really that simple? Stiles thought for sure that Derek would've given him an earful for that kiss, even if the both of them _did_ enjoy it to some extent. That wasn't weird, right? At his age, sexual exploration was a normal, healthy behavior, after all. Who cares if it was with a girl, or a boy, or Derek Hale for that matter? 'I liked it, and I am not ashamed of that.' He affirmed to himself. Although the seventeen year old couldn't help but wonder if he just imagined that faint spark in his chest during their make out, or if it was the cold realization that he might not live once the kiss ended.

"Hey Derek…"

"What?"

"Um… When we, you know, ahhh…"

"?"

The feeling of Derek's tongue and tight grip were still very fresh in Stiles' mind. He squeezed his eyes shut and blinked rapidly to rid the memory. To any normal person he probably looked like a tweaker. Snap out of it, Stilinski!

"Derek, I-"

_***ring-a-ling***_

Well, okay, never mind then.

"Oh my god, who the heck comes to an ice cream shop this late on a school night?!" Stiles moaned, glaring angrily at the alley door to Stone Cold. And what perfect timing they had.

He turned back to Derek and saw that the alpha had found his treasured leather jacket, safe from wear and tear. The man slipped it on with ease, looking as dapper as he had when first entering the shop. Stiles licked his lips and focused his eyes back on Derek's face.

"I gotta go, so uhh… I guess… thanks for, you know, earlier."

Derek looked as if he wanted to say something too, but the words wouldn't come to him, even though he felt like an onslaught of what Stiles called "word vomit" was trying to make its way out.

Figuring the guy needed to go off and hang with his pack buddies or whatever, Stiles started heading inside and gave a sickly goodbye. "See you later or something." His muddy shoes squeaked against the kitchen tiles inside as he disappeared from sight.

"Hey Stiles!"

"Yes?" The boy practically launched himself out of the doorway in a flurry, grabbing onto the frame to keep himself from falling down those three steps.

Derek's mouth hung open for a minute, but he disguised the gawk by running his tongue over his teeth, briefly looking away before saying, "Just… stay out of trouble. Yeah?" For good measure, he threw in, "If you wanna help me out with this, then don't try to be a hero. CALL me first. I'm getting tired of saving your sorry ass."

Contrary to what he thought would happen, Derek was a little surprised when he received a 100 watt smile from the teen, who responded with his own dry remark. "Same goes for you, Grandpa Grump."

Derek rolled his eyes but couldn't stop the tight grin from creeping onto his face, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. He began making his way down the other end of the alley away from the police. He'd had enough of this place already.

"You should come by the shop more often, man! I'll give you a discount!" Stiles called after him.

The alpha waved without breaking his stride. "Not gonna happen!"

Heh. What a stubborn dick.

"Hello?" A faint voice came from inside the shop.

Whoops! Almost forgot about the stupid customer who ruined their… moment? Was that what he and Derek were having? Well, no time to work out the details now.

Stiles closed the back door and locked it, just in case. He'd have to come back out and cover up the body with more garbage, but it was best not to assume that thing was dead indefinitely and wouldn't come barging into their shop for a little payback. Gotta consider all possible scenarios.

Turning his apron frontside once more, he went to take care of the new customer and possibly shoot glares at them while they weren't looking. "Welcome to Stone Cold, hours are ten to TEN so you got about five minutes ready set go."

"Naw, I'm good. Trying to watch what I eat," said the too familiar, gruff voice of the sherif.

Oh.

"DAAAAAAAD HEY WHAT'RE YOU DOIN' HERE, BRO…?"

"Uhh, I was in the area and thought I'd check on my son, _**bro**_." The sherif chuckled, but his expression changed when he saw the raggedy state Stiles was in. "What happened to your… costume?"

"You mean my uniform?" The boy looked down to see that his clothing had taken on a lovely shade of brown and puke green in some spots.

His father held back a snort. "That's your _uniform_," he pointed, making a comment more than asking a question.

"Y-yeah, it's- I mean, I didn't exactly have a choic- okay that's not the point here, okay?"

"Easy there, I get it. When I was around your age I had to wear a big taco suit for my first part-time job. Believe me, you got the better deal here."

Stiles would have to ask for pictures of that later on.

The sherif took a gander at Stone Cold's interior before continuing. "So, you doing okay here?"

"Yeah, it's uhh… it's not the Oval Office or anything, but I can't complain, I guess."

"No, you can't. In today's economy you gotta be thankful for landing a job in the first place. Nothing more important than learning how to support yourself before 'leaving the nest', as they say."

"Yessir," Stiles nodded. If Stiles had been taught anything about the significance of a hard day's work and putting food on the table through the efforts of your own two hands, it was from this old guy, and he respected that affirmation.

His father's eyes wandered to what was behind the counter. "And it looks like you've kept everything pretty clean around here. I just wish you could adopt that same discipline at home."

The teen grinned half-heartedly and offered small shrug. Boys will be boys?

As if Stiles didn't have enough stress on his plate, the door to the employee bathroom opened and out came a wistful and smiley Jessica. Had she really been in there talking to her boyfriend the entire time King Kong VS Godzilla was going on outside?

"Oh, hi Sherif Stilinski!" She chirped. The two had a smidgen of history together during the pool slide incident. Stilinski had been first on the scene to ask what had happened and took on the job of calming a rather hysterical Jessica until the ambulance showed up ("hysterical" being another word for drunk off her ass.)

"Hello there, Jessica," he nodded at the blonde. "I didn't know you worked here with Stiles."

"Yup! It's a temporary gig until I graduate and move up north with my boyfriend." She just had to let the whole work know, didn't she?

"Hey Jessica! Isn't it your turn to close up tonight?" Stiles interjected.

"Um, no, I'm pretty sure you're suppose-"

"THANK you, Jessica, you're such a model employee. All-Work-And-No-Play_-_Jessica; that's what they should call you!"

She narrowed her eyes at him. The girl knew Stiles was taking a jab at how much she slacked off talking on the phone. Instead of causing a petty scene in front of the cops, and to avoid owing her fellow employee any favors later on, she rolled her eyes and trudged into the kitchen, muttering a curse at Stiles under her breath.

The teen turned his attention back to the officers and gave his best fake smile. Why even try when his dad could see right through it 99.9% of the time? "Sooo, nothing for you fine gentlemen this evening?"

Deputy Levvy began to speak. "Well, I-"

"No thanks, we need to start heading back, anyway," the Sherif replied. It was getting pretty late, and he figured Stiles should help close up or do whatever he needed to do before coming home.

"Oh okay. Thanks for stopping by! Come back soon~!" He said in his sing-song employee voice. Did he mean it? Not really. Was it gonna happen whether he invited them or not? Probably so.

"And hey…" His father leaned in towards the counter to whisper something to his son while his partner left through the front. Stiles looked around, confused as to his dad's sudden change in attitude. "You might wanna tell your friend to keep her private affairs in a less public setting."

Stiles made a face. "Huh? You mean Jessica?"

One could tell how uncomfortable it was for Sherif Stilinski to explain the situation to his son, but it had to be addressed one way or another. "We think we saw Jessica and her _boyfriend _out in the back alley gettin' a little…" He made a suggestive look with his eyes.

"Oh… OHHH. Ah ha** hA HAH**A haha **haA**HAH! _Riiight, right._ They were totally… I-I mean, not that I _knew _that was going on, of course not! But uhh yeah. Got'cha. I'll… have a talk with her or something."

"… You do that." The sherif shook his head walking away, bewildered by that boy's weird behavior ever since they'd walked in. Although, it wasn't all that different from how Stiles normally acted, or whatever "normal" meant in his case.

"Bye dad! See you soon!" Stiles waved a little too enthusiastically. In return he got the ring of a bell.

Finally. Some peace and quiet. The shop was empty, Jessica wasn't talking his ear off, and the pinnacle point of his night had ended without loss of limbs or a horrible, disemboweling death. Stiles leaned against the display case and sighed, wiping his eyes and mouth in case there was any grime lingering there. His finger brushed across his lips and stopped. The memory of that kiss came crawling back into his brain like one of those scarabs from The Mummy. That same warm glow in his stomach returned from earlier, leaving the seventeen year old with a bunch of questions and uncertainties that he never really thought he'd find himself mulling over.

_'Tch. Of course only fucking Derek Hale could drive me this crazy.' _The abrupt surge of frustration died down when he got a buzz from his cell phone. He pulled the device out of his way too tight work pants and saw that the message was from Derek.

_"Just saw your dad go into the shop. Everything ok?"_

Ha! So the guy wasn't as cold and stoic as he let on. What a worry-wolf!

Stiles texted back, _"It's fine. We're still in the clear. My dad doesn't suspect anything." _He knew how crucial it was to keep everything that had transpired in the dark, and that's how it would stay. As soon as the garbage trucks came by first thing in the morning to take away the werewolf imposter, they'd all feel better about this whole thing, no doubt.

_bzzz~_

Another text from Derek, reading, _"I meant you but that's good too."_

Stiles blanked.

…

_Oh fuck him._

"Yo, Stilinski! You wanna at least finish your garbage duty or shall I take care of that too, you jerk?" Jessica yelled from the kitchen.

Stiles went to do just that, an involuntary red tint smothering every bit of his pale skin from the neck up that lasted well after he arrived home that night.


End file.
